"We know it was you who saved him. You—you snatched him from the very jaws of Death."
Mary paused, and held out her hand.
"Will you promise me one thing?"
"What is it?" asked Colonel Parsons, unwilling to give his word rashly.
"Well, promise that you will never tell James that he owes anything to me. I couldn't bear him to think I had forced myself on him so as to have a sort of claim. Please promise me that."
"I should never be able to keep it!" cried the Colonel.
"I think she's right, Richmond. We'll promise, Mary. Besides, James can't help knowing."
The hopes of the dear people were reviving, and they began to look upon Jamie's illness, piously, as a blessing of Providence in disguise. While Mrs. Parsons was about her household work in the morning, the Colonel would sometimes come in, rubbing his hands gleefully.
"I've been watching them from the kitchen garden," he said.
James lay on a long chair, in a sheltered, shady place, and Mary sat beside him, reading aloud or knitting.